A Farewell The golden light of day declines, And life, now slipped, must end; Within the waves of time’s designs, A pulse, I cannot mend.

For in the green of gleaming woods, When sorrow shakes the trees, In gentle calm, from hollow floods, I choose, ‘bove all, such keys.

Within each flower, each verdant bough, A touch of memory glows; And though the light of morn is now, I feel it as I go.

With every step, I fondly feel This beauty fade away; In essence made of wood and seal, I dwell in twilight’s play.

o earth, from candle made of stars, Who celebrates the day! With tender songs through years and wars, In freedom shall we stay.

• Alfred Lord Tennyson